At Dol Amroth
by Ms Whatsit
Summary: Lothíriel of Dol Amroth watches the Sea. Also starring Legolas.


A/N: This ficlet is an incredibly random plot-bunny that attacked me pretty viciously. For Tolkien's sake I ought to say that it has no basis in his canon. I got the idea when re-reading the meeting between Legolas and Imrahil in RotK.

Just a mild warning: there's a moment in this story that could be taken as Legolas/Lothíriel, though I don't think it's at all romantic and there's nothing in this story that prevents Lothíriel from falling in love with and marrying Eomer, or L:egolas from sailing off to Valinor in happy bachelor-dom (or slashiness, whichever you prefer) with Gimli. But it'll probably bug some people anyway, so consider yourselves warned :).

I tried to make the moment happen between Legolas and Imrahil instead, figuring that it would irritate fewer people, but it didn't work.

At Dol Amroth 

Lothíriel of Dol Amroth liked to watch the Sea. From her window in her father's tower, she gazed out at the expanse of shifting colors and stared at it until she could feel herself melting into it.

Often she did more than just watch. She would clatter down the stairs from her chambers, slip past servants and guards and run to the shore. There she would stand, at the very place where the water hit the sand, and feel the cold waves swirl round her ankles and count the boats bobbing up and down in the distance. Sometimes she would climb onto a small white boat of her own and set sail, balancing easily as the vessel rocked back and forth and watching the play of the light on the glassy surface of the water.

After the war, sometimes he would come to the shore, having befriended her father. She watched him with fascination. She watched him move through crowds of Men, always carrying himself with that strange, eye-drawing, easy grace that she sometimes saw in her father, and sometimes in herself. She watched him speak of his close companion the Dwarf, and could almost see the firm ties that bound them together. She watched him watch the Sea.

His way of watching the Sea was different from hers. He stared at it hungrily, as if he wanted something from it, as if he wanted to fight with it. When he stood on the shore, to Lothiriel's eyes it seemed that it was only the full strength of his will that kept him from running straight into the water and swimming to the far end of the world.

One evening as he stood, the waves curling in at his feet and the stars bejeweling his hair, he sang softly at the horizon. Lothíriel stared at him, captivated. She knew it was unmannerly. Yet there was something in his face and voice that seemed to call to her from a time long gone, tugging at an ancient, deep-sunken part of her and trying to set it free. Without volition she walked up to him, and when met with his questioning look she frantically sought something to say.

"Good evening, lady. What brings you out here at this time?"

She forced a light laugh. "I am here for much the same reason you must be, Master Legolas. I wished to look upon the stars and the moon, and the Sea at night."

"It must be a common sight for you, here at Dol Amroth." His smile turned wistful, even envious.

"Common, yes. But never tiresome."

"No," said Legolas, turning back to the Sea with an avid glint in his eye. "It could never be that."

Lothíriel felt herself drawn in closer and closer to him, with a sense of unsteadiness, as if she were a pebble on the beach at high tide and he were the Sea itself. Closer she came until she was only aware of the moon-brightness of his skin and the glitter of surprise in his eyes. And then suddenly, swiftly, she pressed her mouth against his, thrusting her tongue between his lips with ungentle fervor.

For one short moment he moved with her, a willing partner in this dance, perhaps because he too enjoyed this, or perhaps simply because he was startled. Then she felt his hands press against her shoulders and his face jerk away from hers. Softly he pushed her away and held her apart from him.

"What do you want from me, Lothíriel?" His eyes were like emerald-tipped arrows—pointed, piercing.

"Want?" She threw him a contemplative glance from under her lashes, mulling over the question, somehow unabashed. It was quite shameless of her, really, but she could not bring herself to care. "What do I want?" The wind blew her hair into her eyes. She reached up with quick slender fingers to brush the stray locks aside. "I want nothing—save the kiss I already took." Lothíriel smiled, and in her smile was an apology. "I took it without your leave, I know. But not, I hope, without your liking?"

"To the contrary," said Legolas, gallant as ever. Lothíriel looked at him searchingly, and wondered if he lied.

"I had hoped to take more than that kiss, at first," she said, somehow impelled to honesty. "But now…" She trailed off and turned away, her face meditative.

Legolas completed her thought, somehow understanding her. "But now you see that it cannot be, though the blood of Nimrodel's folk runs in your veins."

"Yes—I sought to taste something ancient, long-lost," said Lothíriel. Her voice sounded misty and unclear, as if it echoed down old forgotten caverns. "I sought to claim it—and found I already possessed it—and that to take more of it would be to bury myself with the corpses of the past."

Legolas nodded. "For you it is a legacy, not a destiny." His eyes, gleaming and desirous, turned to the Sea. He stared out at the waves tumbling onto the beach, his gaze fixed somewhere very far off. Lothíriel feared he had forgotten her existence, or worse, taken offense. Then he turned back to her and smiled. "Still—legacies should not be forgotten, though 'tis folly to hold them too close."

Lothíriel laughed in relief, her voice mingling with the crash of water on sand. "I think there is little danger of my forgetting, Legolas."

And well into the night the two stood on the moon-soaked sand, twin pillars under the starred roof of the sky, watching the Sea.


End file.
